


The Alpha Kids Get Collectively Hit With A Sock Full Of The Gay At Summer Camp

by GreyscaleCourtier



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also i'm not done tagging pairings so stay tuned, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humanstuck, Humor, Multi, Self Indulgent Fluff Mostly, probably some smut later i haven't decided how much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyscaleCourtier/pseuds/GreyscaleCourtier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you’re ultra-famous, have more money than you know what to do with, and are the legal guardian of an unruly teenager, the odds are you’ll end up at Camp Skaia one day to drop off some spoiled-ass children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DAY ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternately titled "The Fuck Hand"

**\- DIRK -**

If you’re ultra-famous, have more money than you know what to do with, and are the legal guardian of an unruly teenager, the odds are you’ll end up at Camp Skaia one day to drop off some spoiled-ass children.

“Well,” you say, surveying the gravel parking lot outside the camp hall, “it could be worse. Could be better, but I’m sure it could be worse.”

Jane climbs out of the car on the other side and pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Don’t be a downer about this,” she scolds. “I swear, if you’re going to behave like that all week, I’m having your brother turn right back around and take me back to the airport.”

The brother in question pops out of the sunroof, smirking under his now-iconic shades. “Yeah, Dirk. You’re so much prettier when you smile.”

“Ain’t he just?” Jane folds her arms and eyes you over her glasses.

Apart, you love them both, you really do. But when they’re together, god, it’s like the teasing never stops. You raise your arms in surrender. “Fine. Christ. I promise I’ll pretend to have fun.”

“Hone those acting skills.” Dave’s smirk deepens. “I’ll cast you for the next project. Dirk Strider stars in the upcoming summer blockbuster, _Bullshit Anime Hermit Princess.”_

“I like it,” Jane quips. “It sounds very multicultural.”

“We’ll make him wear poofy asshole pants.”

“Is that Jake?” you announce loudly as an eye-burning, lime-green van marked SKAIANET screeches into the parking lot, spitting gravel as it swings into place beside your brother’s unassuming Mercedes. You notice him wince a tiny bit as the tires shoot a rock straight into the impeccable paint job.

The driver’s side door bangs open and immediately you’re attacked by a six-foot-tall woman with wild gray hair that immediately tangles around your shades. “Dirk!” Grandma Harley squawks, squeezing you tight enough that all you can manage in reply is a wheezing “Hi” that sounds like someone stepped on a duck.

“My God you’re skinny!” She pinches your bicep. “Dave, are you feeding this child or do I have to do it myself?”

Your brother waves from the sunroof. “Hi, Jade. We’re laying off the cake these days. For obvious reasons.”

Grandma Harley winks and double-pistols at him.

Behind her, the van door slides open for Jake, who looks almost as green as the screaming neon of the car. “Grandma, _why?”_ he wheezes plaintively.

“Take a look around, Jake!” She sweeps an arm at the camp around you. “Do you see all these superstars? All these brain-dead, talentless, plastic entertainers? No offense,” she adds to Dave.

“None taken.”

“Good. Anyway, your Grandma has to make an _entrance,_ otherwise the Hollywood schmucks won’t even know who we _are.”_ She flips her waist-length hair over one shoulder.

Jake makes a show of looking around at the parking lot. “Grandma, there’s like… three cars here.”

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to fucking know that, now was I? And one of them might be _his!”_ She huffs and rolls her eyes like it should be obvious, then drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard _he_ was sending his kids here. Find them and kick their asses for me, would you?” She turns to survey the camp and finally spots Jane. “Little miss Crocker!” she howls and descends on her. “I read your interview in Food Network magazine, it was _fantastic!_ Just what the hell are you doing in such _atrocious_ company as this?” She gestures at you and your brother.

“Mr. Strider was just giving me a ride from the airport,” Jane giggles, hugging Grandma back. “My dad’s out on a business trip, and my Poppop is still on tour.”

“Aw _fuck,_ I was looking forward to seeing him! Tell John to call me when he gets the chance, would you?”

Jane dips a curtsy. “Absolutely, ma’am!”

Jake finally wobbles over to you and sort-of hugs, sort-of collapses into you. “Don’t let her drive you anywhere,” he says without preamble. “Not ever. It’s not worth it, mate. I saw my life flash before my very eyes.”

“Good to see you too, English.” You pat him on the arm.

His grip tightens on your shoulder and you try not to think about it. _“Don’t let her, Dirk.”_

You ease him off of you and push him at Jane. Grandma Harley has already seated herself on the hood of the Mercedes – much to Dave’s obvious anguish – and is rapid-fire telling him all the gossip from the cutthroat world of intrigue that is, apparently, science.

“…then he writes this absolute _garbage_ paper trying to bash my methods, and do you know what he calls it? He calls it ‘A response to Jade Harley’s treatise on semi-quantum matter transfer’ – yeah, that dipfuck namedropped me! – and it is absolute _bullshit!_ It’s just him screaming in all caps about how teleportation is impossible no matter what, the end, double spaced Times New Roman!”

“Is it really.”

“Well, no. But it is garbage nonetheless! Nobody except this one journal in India would even publish it, and do you know what their SJR is? It’s fucking eight! Eight! And _he’s_ all smug at the conference, like he really got me this time! It’s like playing chess with a pigeon! You can strategize and insist on the rules all you want, but the pigeon is just going to shit all over the board and strut around like it’s won.” She huffs and flips more hair out of her face. “Oh, I almost forgot, I _did_ finally see that last movie of yours!”

“Which one?”

“Um… Jake?”

“Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff: the movle,” Jake recites halfheartedly.

“That one, right!”

“Yeah?” Your bro’s smile turns suddenly genuine. You know he’s not immune to flattery, and that it means doubly much coming from Jade Harley. “What’d you think?”

“The discourse!” She throws one hand to her forehead like a swooning heroine. “The intrigue! The weird, glitchy soundtrack of what I think were goats bleating? I couldn’t really tell.”

“Yeah, it was goats, I’m glad you caught that. All the critics thought it was camels, or the screams of the damned from the abyss. Except for Forbes, which said they had the exclusive knowledge that it was actually just me screaming into a microphone and run through an audio spirograph.”

Grandma nods sagely. “Poor fools. Like you’d do that _two_ movies in a row.”

Another car comes crunching into the parking lot; it’s a small purple Mini with dark-tinted windows like all the other cars here have. When it rolls up beside Jade’s eye-searing van, you can read the custom license plate: C07L.

Rose Lalonde unfolds elegantly from the tiny driver’s seat and tucks a strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear, smiling faintly at Dave and Jade. “I must have taken a wrong turn,” she says. “I’ve somehow ended up in the dumbshit side of town. Roxy, dear, I’m afraid we’ve fallen in with hooligans.”

“Again?” Roxy pops out of the other door. “Mama, you have gotta stop falling in with hooligans. Neither of us are pretty enough to be prostitutes.”

“We could always be dominatrices instead.” Rose smirks and hugs Dave across the Mercedes roof. “Hello, dear.”

“Sexual domination is not the same thing as systematically tearing someone’s psyche apart until they weep in a cabinet, Mama.” Roxy hefts a pink suitcase at least as heavy as she is out of the Mini’s cramped back.

“Mmm, I’m sure there’s _someone_ out there who would pay good money for it.” Rose reaches for Jade next, pecking her on the cheek.

“Speaking of hooligans,” Jade says, returning the hug awkwardly one-armed, “last minute rules! No one gets pregnant. No one dies in an embarrassing way that we can’t tell the paparazzi about.”

“No one tries anal without lube,” your brother adds.

“Nobody tries meth.” Jade glares at Dave over her glasses.

“No one gets murdered and dumped in the lake or the woods,” Rose puts in. “If you have to kill someone, burying them in the woods is okay, as long as you cover your tracks by burying a small animal about three feet above it. That way if the sniffer dogs turn it up, the police will shrug it off as a false alarm and keep searching.”

Everyone stops and stares at her for a moment.

“What? I’m an author. It’s my job to know convenient things like that. Might come in handy one day.”

Jade blinks, then turns back to you four. “No mending broken hearts. Shit can’t be done in a week, it’ll only lead to pain.”

“No writing snarky-ass research papers criticizing Jade’s methods,” Dave adds.

“No burying treasure in the bottom of the lake,” Rose says. “Digging it _up_ is okay as long as you split it evenly and run before the cops find you. I can have a car waiting to take you over state lines within fifteen minutes.”

“No twerking unless a black friend says it’s okay first. Especially _your_ skinny white booty.” Dave tips his shades down to stare straight at you. You raise your hands in surrender. You’ve been doing that a lot today.

“No saving anybody’s life. They’ll owe you a life-debt, and if they’re super annoying, you have to put up with them for fucking years until they can repay you.” Jade nods sagely.

“No befriending the wildlife, or trying to smuggle it home,” Rose says.

“If someone offers you drugs,” Dave pipes up, “take them and say thank you, because drugs are expensive.”

“But no _sleeping_ with anyone in exchange for drugs,” Rose tacks on. “Handjobs are okay, but nothing more.” She and Dave nod solemnly at each other.

“No skinny-dipping without a supervising adul—wait, no, shit, wow, that’s a _terrible_ idea. Okay. No skinny-dipping without it being really, really dark outside?”

“That one was a stretch, Jade.”

“Well, I’m sor- _ry_ I didn’t write out a script beforehand! …Oh my god, you _actually_ wrote a script, didn’t you.”

“I can cut it short if you want, but there’s like, a _lot_ of good rules on here.”

“We get the message!” Roxy yells cheerfully, swinging her suitcase around until it bangs right into Jake’s knees. He goes down like a sack of bricks. “Bottom line, don’t do anything you wouldn’t do, yada yada yada. See you in a week!”

You haul Jake upright and grab your bag of stuff. You’d offer to carry Jane’s, but she probably has better upper body strength than you do and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

“Black magic is okay only in very small doses, or to scare someone wealthy!” Rose calls after Roxy. “And if you run out of tampons, you can always ask a counselor!”

“Oh my _god_ Mama _please_ go away and do rich eccentric author things please goodbye!”

Jade cackles like a storybook witch as you, Jake, and Jane follow Roxy into the camp hall.

~

You all get checked in at the front desk with an exhausted-looking woman. She directs you into the hall-slash-cafeteria nearby to wait for announcements. Jane snags the last empty table and Roxy sits beside her, leaning in to stage whisper, “So, check out all the freaks.”

In your opinion, most of the other campers look bored and fidgety more than freakish, but you nod anyway. Skaia appeals to the rich and famous for several reasons – it’s secluded enough that paparazzi don’t bother the kids, there haven’t been any horrific deaths or maimings, and (most importantly, you think) their cutoff age is sixteen instead of thirteen, like most other summer camps around here. “Jake, who was your grandma talking about earlier?” you ask as he takes his glasses off to clean them.

“Who?” He pauses mid-polish.

“She told you to kick some kids’ asses. Did she piss off a TV astrophysicist again?”

“I’ve _told_ you, that ruckus with deGrasse Tyson blew over months ago.” He firmly pushes his glasses back in place. “And _furthermore,_ it’s not an astrophysicist this time. It’s her _nemesis.”_

“Ooooh, the one she named you after to piss him off? English?” Roxy leans forward even further. You don’t know how she hasn’t impaled herself on the edge of the table yet.

“One and the same. She got wind that he was sending his twins here.” Jake twists to not-so-subtly scan the crowd. “I wonder who they are?”

Jane smacks him on the wrist. “Quit staring, it’s rude. I’m _sure_ we’ll meet them eventually. Did you see the schedule for today? Dirk, you have a copy, I _know_ you do, give it to me.”

You sigh, dig around in your backpack for the sheet, and hand it to her.

“Thank you. After introduction, we’re supposed to move into our bunks and meet our counselors, then come back here for dinner…”

“Oh gods, _dinner,”_ Jake sighs.

“…and then we’re left to our own devices until lights out.” Jane hands you the sheet back and wiggles her eyebrows. “That gives us time to _plan.”_

“Plan what?” You take it and shove it back in your backpack.

She puts a hand to her chest. “Dirk! I _know_ you didn’t expect to get through this week without at least one panty raid and an illegal midnight trip to the lake, did you?”

You heave another sigh. You’re pretty sure you’re going to be sighing a lot this week.

Roxy whaps your arm. “Shhh! Shut the hell up, guys, they’re starting!”

Sure enough, one of the few adults has stood up and is approaching the front of the room. He looks just as exhausted as the front desk woman, face covered in two-day-old stubble, and when he talks, it’s with a strong Jersey accent and with the kind of boredness that only comes with reciting the same shit several times a month.

“Welcome to Camp Skaia, I’m Jack, one of your chief counselors this week, ground rules, show up for meals, do as your counselors and junior counselors tell you, no fighting, after announcements you’ll be sent to pick out your bunks…”

Roxy wrinkles her nose. “Wow. Jaded much?”

“Well, they’ve probably had a full summer’s worth of campers by now,” Jane points out reasonably. “I’d be sick of teenagers, too.”

A slim black woman with close-cropped hair elbows Jack out of the way. “What my colleague _means,”_ she says, glaring him down, “is that we are all delighted to have you all here. My name is Chakuda Queen, everybody calls me Snowman. I’ll be the chief counselor for all our female campers this week, Jack will do the same for the boys’ cabin.”

“That’s cisnormative,” you point out under your breath. Jane whaps you under the table.

“If you can’t get hold of one of us or another adult for one reason or another,” Snowman goes on, “we also have our assistant counselors to help out. Both of you come up here.”

Two college-age teenagers emerge from the crowd. One is a bright-eyed boy with a dyed mohawk and artfully ragged jeans; the other is an unsmiling young woman with tattoos and a lip piercing.

“This is Rufioh and Porrim, they’ll be helping out this week. After we’re done here, they’ll take you all to your bunks and do some icebreaker games, and then we’ll all meet back here for dinner!” Snowman plunks the microphone in Jack’s hand with more force than strictly necessary, like _that’s how it’s done, bitch._

“Okay, I’m not imagining the sexual tension between those two, right?” Roxy stage-whispers over Rufioh enthusiastically introducing himself to the room.

“Roxy, Christ.” You slide your fingers under your shades to rub your eyes.

Jane nods, eyeing Snowman and Jack. “No, she’s right. But they haven’t done anything about it yet. There’s too much tension.”

Roxy follows her look and frowns. “Well, they’re _gonna._ C’mon. Close quarters and all that.”

“I bet the unquestioning obedience of little kids all summer has their egos out of control,” Jane giggles.

“Oh, definitely. Plus, y’know, I bet they feel weird jerkin’ off in a camp full of kids, so there’s gonna be tons of sexual frustration building up.”

“Roxy, _Christ,”_ you repeat with more desperation. Jake just looks back and forth between them in mute horror. In the front of the room, Porrin starts introducing herself.

“Look.” Jane nudges you. “Look at them and tell me they aren’t going to kiss before the week ends.”

“Oh, they’re gonna do _way_ more than kiss,” Roxy says devilishly. “Count on it.”

You shove your shades back in place and sigh (again). Snowman and Jack are arguing quietly in a corner. As much as you hate to admit it, Jane might be right. Their faces are _almost_ touching, and you could swear you saw Jack glance down at her lips before Porrim finishes up and suddenly everyone’s standing up and filing out of the hall.

“Catch up with you boys at dinner!” Roxy bounces out of her chair like there’s a spring in it, dragging Jane with her. “And I’m telling you – they’re gonna fuck before the week is over.” She winks and drags Jane after Porrim.

 _“Roxy, Christ,”_ you say after her helplessly.

~

**\- ROXY –**

You elbow past Jane and half a dozen other girls who all shoot you dirty looks. “Jane!” you squawk, flinging your immense suitcase onto a bunk. “Over here by the window!”

Jane follows at a statelier pace and peers up at you over her glasses. “For sneaking shenanigans, I assume?”

“Obvs.” You clamber up into the top bunk and start hauling sheets and your lumpiest, squishiest pillow out of your suitcase.

Jane sighs and starts unpacking her own bedding. “And I don’t get the top bunk?”

“Nope. Too slow. Sorry.”

She thwaps her pillow up at you and misses by a foot.

“Oh, _sweet,_ two pillows.” You grab it and ignore her squawk of protest. “I’m gonna be _so_ comfortable.”

“Give that _back_ or I will stab you in your sleep!” Jane snatches it back with a little hop, but she’s giggling. “I can’t _believe—”_

“Sorry,” a soft voice breaks in, just loud enough to be heard over Jane’s pillow threat. You both turn to see a short girl with white-blonde, close-cropped hair standing nervously by the next bunk. “Do you… either of you, sorry, do you mind if I… ah, take this bunk? I’m sorry, there’s nowhere else.” One of her hands is clutching a small pillow, the other holds the handle of a generic green suitcase.

Jane gives the girl her biggest smile – the one with the dimples, because she _knows_ nobody can resist the fucking dimple smile – and gestures to the bunk. “Be our guest! I’m Jane.”

The tense lines around her eyes soften. “Oh! I – thank you. My name is Calliope.” She half-goes to offer Jane her hand, seems to realize her hands are full, and turns pink as she piles her things on the mattress.

“And that’s Roxy.” Jane waves a hand at you and goes back to her own unpacking, leaving you free to lean down from your perch to shake Calliope’s now-empty hand. When she lets go, you pass your suitcase down to Jane to slide under the bed alongside her own.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” she says, and yeah, that’s definitely an English accent. She’s all sharp cheekbones and enormous bottleglass-green eyes, and when you take her hand the bones stand out against her stark white skin. She is adorable, oh my _god._

“Calliope.” You hum. “Isn’t that a Greek goddess?” Why the hell did you lead with that.

Her cheeks flush further. “Ah, well, yes. Something like that. Actually she was one of the muses. My father likes rather archaic names. He named my brother – sorry, that’s not interesting.” She turns even pinker and turns to quickly unzip her suitcase and start unpacking.

“No, no, wait, _now_ you gotta tell us.” You lean off the bunk to watch her. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“It’s – ah, it’s Caliborn. Some sort of… I think it’s a form of the name Excalibur, but I’m not quite sure, sorry.”

“Is he here too?” Jane asks politely, tucking her sheet under the mattress.

Calliope grimaces. “I’m afraid so. Father seems to think we’d like to do everything together.”

“Janey, I smell some ripe pranking material.”

“Hoo hoo, I’m already planning.” She wiggles her eyebrows up at you like a supervillain.

“Pranking?” Calliope looks uneasy.

“Sure. Jane is a prank master.” You dangle one hand down to her bunk for a low-five. “We’re all planning tons of shenanigans for the week.”

“All…?” Calliope repeats, and you can see the anxiety bloom in her face as clear as day, the _oh god they’ve got a clique and I’m intruding_ flavor.

“Yeah. Me, Jane, Dirk, Jake, and now you.” You poke your head upside down over the edge of the bunk and grin at her. “We’ll introduce you to them at dinner. You’ll love them. Jake is a trip and a half.”

Jane snorts and fluffs her pillow primly.

Calliope offers you a tentative smile.

“I need everyone up at the front of the cabin once you’re settled in,” Porrim’s voice rings out over the bunks. “We’re going to do an icebreaker activity.”

You groan over the sounds of the other girls shuffling and last-minute unpacking. “Jane. _Jaaaaane._ Jane they’re gonna make us _talk_ about ourselves.”

“I know.” She zips her suitcase back up. “Finish your sheets.”

“I don’t _wanna.”_

“You don’t want to finish your sheets, or you don’t want to talk about yourself?”

“Neither.” You flop dramatically halfway over the edge of the bunk. (Why don’t they have railings? That seems like a blaring oversight. Someone’s gonna get sued.) “Do you think I can fake being deaf and communicate in sign language instead?”

“Middle fingers shown with varying intensity is not sign language, Roxy.”

You flip her off at High Intensity. She grabs your hand and pulls you off the bunk. You land with an unceremonious _doomp_ and glare up at her. Calliope giggles shrilly and then puts a mortified hand over her mouth, but you and Jane pretend not to notice. Jane offers you a hand up. “Come on. If anyone tries asking about your dark and mysterious past, you can threaten them with black magic. Your mother did say we could.”

You take her hand and she hauls you up with no effort. Damn her and her upper body strength. “Fine, little miss All-American Heiress. It’s easy for _you_ to talk about yourself. Your grandma invented Twinkies or something. My mom wrote Gay Lord of the Rings and is known for her Emo Lovecraftian Bullshit.”

Calliope looks uncomfortable. You shake your hair into place and give her your most dazzling smile. (Dirk says it makes you look like the Cheshire Cat on cheap meth, but what does he know.) “C’mon, we’ll help you unpack after dinner. Let’s break some fuckin’ ice and go eat.”

Porrim has everyone sit in a semicircle in front of the cabin door. She’s not nearly as intimidating as the tattoos and piercings make her look, and even though she doesn’t smile much, she puts you all at ease with her stories about dumb shit her campers have done all summer.

“…poor kid was convinced he’d been attacked by a jellyfish – in a freshwater lake, no less – so he came screaming out of the lake absolutely losing his shit.” Her pierced eyebrows twitch with suppressed laughter. “And instead of getting a counselor, he… Apparently he’d heard that pee neutralizes jellyfish poison, so he drops his swim trunks and hysterically pees all over his arms, in front of the entire camp.”

Everyone howls with laughter. When it subsides, Porrim allows herself a small smile. “It turned out that his sunscreen was expired and he had some kind of reaction to it. But the damage had been done anyway.” She claps her hands. “So! We’re going to go around the circle and you’re each going to introduce yourself, say a little about where you’re from, and one interesting fact about yourself.” She gestures to the girl at her left. “Damara, would you like to go first?”

You don’t pay much attention to the other campers. You dimly recognize that Damara is from Japan, her mom is an assistant to a high-ranking celebrity or something, and she has the voice of a chain smoker. Aranea talks so much Porrim has to cut her off. Meulin is deaf and loud and absolutely hilarious. Meenah winks and finger-pistols at Jane for reasons you’ll probably forget to ask her about later – but when it comes to your turn you are _on top_ of that shit.

“I’m Roxy Lalonde,” you say as soon as Meenah is done. “I’m from New York, and one time I accidentally stole a cat. Jane, your turn.”

“Accidentally stole a cat?” Meulin repeats, like she’s sure she’s read your lips wrong.

“Yup. The owner was totally cool with it though. Probably. Jane. Your turn.”

Jane takes over before they can get into the whole Frigglish debacle. What would you do without Jane. “Um, well, I’m Jane Crocker, I’m from Washington, and I really love to bake.”

“Me too!” Meulin crows excitedly, then catches herself. “Wait, you mean – you mean actual baking. Ah.”

“Yes. Yes I do. Calliope?”

Calliope hesitates, eyes darting around the circle as everyone turns to look at her. “Ah. Hello, I’m Calliope English, I’m from… all over the place, really. I… ah, I have a twin?”

“Wait, your brother’s your twin?” You raise an eyebrow at her. She nods.

“He here?” Meenah twists to look out the cabin window. “He cute?”

Calliope flushes and opens her mouth, but Aranea interrupts. “Wait, English, I know that name – haven’t I heard it in the news lately? English Tech?”

“That’s… yes, that’s m… well, it’s not _me,_ it’s my father. Ah. His company.” Calliope twists her hands in her lap and looks at you and Jane rather helplessly.

“Oh, I heard there was an investigation—” Aranea goes on.

“Latula!” Jane blurts out. “It’s your turn!”

Thank God Jane remembers names.

“Right!” Latula grins. She needs braces. “I’m Latula Pyrope, I’m from Arizona and I’m in competitive skateboarding…”

Calliope’s lips twitch in a grateful smile at Jane, but it trembles away into an anxious frown when she thinks you aren’t looking anymore.

After everyone’s introduced themselves, Porrim lays down the ground rules. “Basically, stay where we can find you if we need to.” She picks absently at her manicure, chipped and faded at the edges. “Don’t sneak off with members of the opposite sex”— _“That’s heteronormative,”_ you whisper without thinking, and Jane elbows you—“which also includes no going in the boys’ cabin. No leaving the cabin after lights-out unless you have a counselor with you. No going in the lake when it’s not rec time. You have to show up at all meals, even if you aren’t hungry. The rest of the stuff is just basic common sense, like no fireworks, fistfights, or alcohol, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

You think of the bottles wrapped carefully in clothes at the bottom of your backpack and hope nobody notices the flush rising in your face.

“Aside from that, have fun this week.” Porrim gets to her feet in a single graceful motion. “Who’s ready for dinner?”

~

**\- DIRK –**

“I call top!” Jake dumps his backpack on the floor and clambers into the upper bunk. You wince internally at both his innocent innuendo and the frankly alarming creaks and splinters from the bunk itself.

“Knock yourself out,” you say, hoping he won’t. You eye the mattress with distaste. God only knows if it’s been cleaned between camps all summer. Probably not. Which means that there have been _months_ of hormonal teenage boys sweating and drooling and probably jerking off on this mattress and now _you_ have to _sleep_ on it, fucking hell.

TT: It seems you are reluctant to claim this bed.

Oh fuck no. You reach up to switch off your wifi hotspot, but you aren’t fast enough to beat the red lines of text.

TT: A simple microbial scan (which I am totally capable of doing, by the way) indicates a 1.79925:2 ratio of Not-Bed particles to Bed particles.  
TT: There is another, even worse and frankly alarming ratio within the subset of the Not-Bed particles, that includes chlamyd

You flick the switch and the chat window closes. The auto-responder will be fine. Mostly he likes to play MMOs and troll your brother. He can live without you for a week. That’s what you designed it to do in the first place.

“Dirk!” Jake’s face appears over the edge of the bunk, upside-down with his glasses slipping dangerously towards the floor. “Are you going to unpack or not?”

You slide your suitcase under the bed and try not to think about it. “Later.”

He shoves his glasses back up and disappears back over the bunk. From the protesting squeals of the wood, you guess he’s setting up his sheets. “All jokes aside, I truthfully do believe we’ll have fun here! Don’t you?”

He’s going to be sleeping three feet above your face for a week. You take a deep breath. Operation: Woo Jake English So Smoothly He Won’t Even Know You’re Wooing Him is in motion. You’ve planned out every offhand comment you’ll make this week, down to revealing late-night secrets and leaving him alone with Roxy. (You haven’t recruited her in your schemes, but you know she likes dropping hints and gossip. If you play your cards right, she could do half your work for you.)

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”

“Everybody up by the door for icebreaking!” Rufioh calls from somewhere you can’t see. “Gonna get to know each other. It’ll be great.”

You roll your eyes, glad – for neither the first nor the last time – that you’re hidden behind your shades.

Jake bounds off the bunk and lands with a thump that makes your heartbeat stutter. _Get your shit together, Dirk,_ you mentally berate yourself. You have the very limited window of six days to win the heart of Jake English, and you are not going to ruin it by acting like a hormonal, sexually frustrated buffalo on Day 1.

“Righto!” he says, flashing you the brilliant grin that makes your heart stutter again – _come on shut the fuck up you’re ruining our plan_ – and kicking his backpack under your bunk. “Shall we?”

Icebreaking goes about as lame as you expected. You mumble something about Texas and programming, Jake shares enthusiastically about his island, someone talks about Ireland and his dad and poetry, someone else shrugs and signs _I’m mute_ and nobody gets it but you and Rufioh. (You didn’t talk until you were six, so Dave taught you some sign language to get by. You’ve forgotten most of it, but some has stuck through the years.)

You tune back in when a rough, nasal voice introduces itself as “Caliborn English, from None-Of-Your-Fucking-Business.”

Jake glances sideways at you, but you focus in on the speaker. He’s short – shorter than you, maybe Jane’s height – and hair buzzed so close to his head you can’t even tell what color it is. His lip is half-curled, ready to sneer. You immediately dislike him.

“Okay,” Rufioh says easily. “Glad you’re here, Caliborn. Got an interesting fact for us?”

The lip curl rises into the predicted sneer. “Like what?”

Rufioh seems unfazed. “Well, any hobbies? Pets?”

“I draw.” He has the exact tone you use when Dave tells you to do the laundry and you tell him _I did_ in that defiant smug voice. “And beat my useless sister at chess.”

“Cool, is she here at camp?”

“Unfortunately.” Caliborn all but bares his teeth.

“Awesome, I hope I get to meet her. Mituna?” Rufioh nods at the wild-haired kid next to Caliborn.

You don’t hear him introduce himself, too busy thinking about what Jade Harley had said about her “nemesis.”

Jake doesn’t say anything.

~

**\- ROXY –**

You march into the camp hall, Jane’s wrist in one hand and Calliope’s in the other. You are an unstoppable juggernaught, knocking some poor kid out of the way when you spot the last empty table. “C’mon,” you say over your shoulder to Calliope, “that one’s ours. Jane”—you switch shoulders—“keep an eye out for the boys and flag ‘em down if you see them.”

You lay claim to the table without incident as Jane waves from her tiptoes at Dirk, who’s just entered the hall with Jake close behind. “So what do you think about our counselors so far?” you ask Calliope.

She shrugs, wide green eyes darting around the filling room. “They seem… nice,” she says carefully.

You smirk. “I told Jane during announcements that Slick and Snowman have crazy sexual tension going on. Thoughts?”

You expect her to blush, but she twists in her chair to watch them appraisingly as they argue quietly in a corner. “I suppose I can see it,” she says, and giggles. She fucking _giggles._ Oh your heart.

Jake collapses in the chair on Jane’s other side, then notices Calliope and bounds back upright. “Ah! Sorry, miss, didn’t see you.” He offers a hand.

“This is Calliope. Calliope, that’s Jake.”

Calliope takes his hand with a nervous smile. “You can all call me Callie, if you’d rather.”

“And that’s Dirk.” You wave a hand at him as he pulls out the chair on the other side of Jake’s.

“Pleasure’s all ours.” He doesn’t offer a hand and Calliope seems relieved.

Jake almost takes his seat again when Rufioh shouts over the noise that it’s time to line up for dinner, and he springs back up with a new light in his eyes. _“Dinner,”_ he blurts like he’s forgotten any other word exists, and takes off.

But by the time you all sit back down, trays in hand, he looks a little less enthusiastic. “What… exactly, is this?” he asks no one in particular, poking the soggy beige mash delicately with a plastic fork.

You cram a third of it into your mouth at once. “Shwffrds fie,” you remind him, ignoring the cringe Dirk gives as crumbs escape your mouth. He’ll survive.

“This is most certainly _not_ shepherd’s pie,” Jane announces, inspecting her plate with the horrified fascination of a civilian coming unexpectedly upon a grisly murder. “I’m not sure _what_ it is, but it is one hundred percent not shepherd’s pie.”

Dirk pushes his shades up just enough to squint suspiciously at a forkful of wobbling mush. “I’m gonna have to go with Jane on this one.”

You shovel another third of your slice into your mouth. “It tafstes like rubber ‘n’ chews like snot. Who thf fuck cares, it’s food.”

 _“I_ the fuck cares.” Dirk slips the shades back in place, looking even whiter than usual. “Jane.”

“Hmm.” She nudges her pie again. It jiggles in a gelatinous wedge.

“Jane.”

“What.”

“Please do something about this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Work your foodie magic and make this edible.”

“What, you think I just carry my equipment around in my bag?”

“I _know_ you keep spices in there. Don’t deny it.”

“You’d best not be rooting around in my things, Dirk.” But Jane reaches for her handbag under the table anyway.

“I was looking for gum.” Dirk takes the offered vial of paprika Jane offers him. “Bless you.”

Calliope chews thoughtfully, face scrunched up delicately. When she finishes her mouthful, she delicately dabs at her lips with a napkin. “Well, I’ve seen worse. In prisons. In developing countries. Immediately after a natural disaster knocked out all of their running water and electricity.”

“Y’all just gotta lower your standards,” you instruct them, scooting the last third of your plateful onto the beleaguered fork. “It’s camp food. It’s the end of summer. They’re gonna be feeding us the sludge that’s accumulated at the bottom of the freezer.”

Dirk turns a delicate shade of green. “See, don’t… you can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“They just scrape it off with a spatula and melt the ice off. That’s how Mom makes her shepherd’s pie, too.”

You think you see him gag, but it might just be a hard swallow.

Jane intervenes. “Well I, for one, will not be having this. Not again.” She pushes her plate towards you. “I’ll have something done about this situation.”

“Right,” Dirk says dryly. “The mysterious, cutthroat world of intrigue that is the culinary industry. I keep forgetting. Also, do you have anything stronger than paprika?”

She winks and taps the side of her nose. “I have my connections, Strider.” She reaches for her bag again.

Jake’s managed to wolf his portion down despite his earlier misgivings. “Yeah, didn’t his brother have to drive you both here? I thought your dad was bringing you.”

“Oh, a surprise business trip kept him in Japan. And Poppop is on tour again, so as always, it’s the Strider boys to the rescue.” She hands Dirk a shaker of cayenne and absently pats his hand when he takes it.

“And Dave doesn’t have anything _better_ to do?” you ask pointedly. It’s become something of a rivalry between you and Dirk, how successful your respective guardians are.

“We’re between movies right now.” He upends the shaker of cayenne, dyeing half his plate red. “Enjoying the brief respite before getting thrown back in the tank of dick-biting media sharks. We found ourselves a little island with a single palm tree, and are taking turns swigging the sweet fermented coconut juice of residual royalty checks and trading war stories before jumping back in. It’s a bloodbath out there. Johnny Depp is screaming for help. We wish we could help him, but he jumped in all by his goddamn self with that Willy Wonka bullshit. He knew the risks. That’s how it is in Hollywood, as it is in outer space: you just gotta let the stars burn out when they decide it’s time.”

“Poor Depp.” You cram the pie meditatively in your mouth, then reach for Jane’s abandoned plate. “I liked him in the pirate moviesh. You gonna eat thish?”

Jane shakes her head.

“Shweet.”

“Speaking of movies,” Dirk goes on, “I heard a studio was angling for a _Complacency_ adaptation. What did your mom say?”

“Something eldritch and with a lot of apostrophes, but I think it was horrorterror for ‘Get these damn kids off my carefully edited and incomprehensible literary lawn.’” You cut into Jane’s slice. You’re feeling vaguely nauseous, but if you quit now, you’ll just have proved them right about the food.

“So… your middle name.”

“Something like that.”

“What _is_ your middle name?” Jake asks around his own mouthful.

“Don’t ask,” Dirk says. “Suffice to say, it takes about four minutes to say, has maybe six vowels, and you have to sacrifice a dove at the twenty-third syllable, otherwise you summon a blind rat that vibrates.”

You nod. “I call him Todd. He’s not as much fun as he sounds.”

Jake looks between you and Dirk, like he can’t quite figure out if you’re joking.

“Oh, good, _someone_ finally found friends.” A nasty, nasal voice comes from over your shoulder.

Across the table, Dirk’s face darkens.

Calliope visibly sets her jaw. “Can’t find a seat, then, can we?” she says. There’s a nasty edge to her voice you haven’t heard before. “You can’t sit with us, I’m afraid.”

You finally glance backwards to see who you’re about to fuck up. The kid looks almost exactly like Calliope, if Calliope were a boy and also a total douche canoe who wore _suspenders,_ what the fuck? No one wears suspenders. Not even Jake wears suspenders, and Jake dresses like the Indiana Jones movies had a horrific car accident with a train full of booty shorts.

He sneers. “Have fun at the pity table.”

“Have fun looking for your sunscreen later.” Calliope takes a sip of water.

Her (probably?) twin brother turns a violent shade of red. “Bitch.” Some of the kids at the other tables are starting to turn and look.

“Name-calling is concession. Go sit down, you’re making a scene of yourself.”

“It’s _on_ this week.”

“When is it ever off? Can we make a schedule?”

He growls something under his breath and storms off.

Calliope heaves a tired sigh and sets her plastic cup down. “And _that_ ray of sunshine is my brother Caliborn,” she says, waving a hand at his retreating back.

“He seems…” Jane fumbles for a word. “…Antagonistic?”

“Yes, that’s, that’s certainly one word you could use. And yes, that’s a normal day for us. Actually a good day.”

“Ew,” you say.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun! I think.” She crumples her napkin and tosses it on her plate with her barely-eaten pie. “Are you done there, Dirk?”

“Absolutely. Please take this away. Sorry, Jane. Not even cayenne can save that.”

Jane nods sagely as Calliope scoops up Jake’s plate too, shuttling them off to the trash. “I’ll see what I can do for the rest of the week.”

You finally abandon Jane’s slice when your gag reflex starts to kick in. “Bluhhh. I’m done. I regret that. Jane was right about everything.”

“I always am. When will you learn?”

“If I die of horrific food poisoning, just dump me in the lake. Don’t tell my mom what happened, she’d carve it on my tombstone in flawless calligraphy just to mock me for eternity. Beloved Daughter of Days Gone By, Came To Her Fucking Death By Pie. Can’t do it.”

“Of course.” Jane pats your hand. “Can I have your pillow when you’re gone?”

You put your head down on the table. “Sure. Whatever. Profit from my misery.”

Calliope comes back and scoops up the other plates. “Is she all right?”

“She’s dying,” Dirk clarifies. “Or so she likes to think.”

“You’re a heartless motherfucker,” you say into the plastic tabletop.

“Yeah.” He sips his water unperturbed. “So did anyone bring snacks, or are we starving tonight?”

“If you talk about food I will set you on fire. And _then_ vomit on you.”

“Roxy, you’re my best friend, and I love you, but if you start throwing up I’m taking off running out of this camp.”

Jane looks over at Jake, brow furrowed. “Wait, would vomiting on him put the fire out, or make it worse? Isn’t there methane in stomach acid?”

“No, you’re thinking of something else,” Jake says confidently. “Stomach acid by itself isn’t flammable.”

“I’m _dying_ and you two are talking about _science.”_ You crack an eye open to glare at them. “I hate you.”

“I suppose if there was a flammable compound in the pie…” Jake goes on like he didn’t even hear you, the bastard.

“Someone shut him up.” You flap blindly in his direction.

“Jake, Roxy would like you to shut up, please.” Calliope is back and sits down.

“I didn’t say _please,”_ you grumble.

Dirk looks pointedly over your shoulder. “Hey, people are leaving. Does that mean we can go? Or are we rioting and I didn’t get the e-vite?”

“You would’ve gotten it if you’d unblocked me,” you say.

“Stop sending me hentai and I will.”

“You know you like it.”

“Okay, I’m guessing we’re allowed to leave. Are we sneaking out to do anything later tonight?”

Jane shakes her head, curls bouncing, as she taps away on her phone. “Not tonight. We’re going to need to get up early.”

“For fuckin’ what?” You sit up at that. Nobody said anything about getting up early when you plotted out the shenanigans for this week.

“Well, do you want to eat leftover shepherd’s pie for breakfast, or would you like to help me revamp the entire menu?” Jane looks at you over her glasses like a wrathful librarian, or a Baptist grandma. “It’ll take some legwork, but it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

You squint at her. “Will there be crêpes?”

“I’ll make sure there’s crêpes.”

“Deal.” You stagger out of your chair. “Let’s get the fuck to sleep.”

~

**\- DIRK –**

The setting sun shines obnoxiously bright over the shower curtain. It’s going down over the lake, and the reflection makes you squint without your shades.

It was way too early to actually go to sleep, so you’ve opted for a last-minute shower. The facilities seem woefully insufficient, but to be fair, you _are_ accustomed to your penthouse accommodations like the spoiled brat you are. Still, it seems like they’re mocking you on purpose – the showers are a small ring of stalls set near the trees, with a showerhead, a drain in the concrete floor, and nothing but a flimsy vinyl curtain between your naked ass and the great outdoors.

A crow caws somewhere and you almost drop the conditioner. This is exactly the kind of situation where Roxy would rip the curtain aside, phone in hand, to Snapchat your fluorescently pale shame to the entire world. The possibilities flash through your mind as you do your best to speed through your normal shower routine. Of course, since your usual showers are at least thirty minutes long, you aren’t making a lot of progress, and only succeeding in making yourself paranoid.

The breeze unsticks one side of the vinyl curtain from the concrete wall and you nearly slip trying to pin it back in place with your foot, both hands buried in your hair as you try to calm your pounding heart. Honestly, there’s probably not even anyone around to see, but you are 100% not willing to take that chance.

In the end, you forego the second layer of conditioner you normally use in favor of the relative security of a towel around your waist, too nervous about a passing breeze to worry too much about your hair. (Well, almost. You have leave-in conditioner in your stuff somewhere. You’ll put that in before bed. You’re not a godless heathen.) Towel secured around your waist, you’re about to peel the vinyl curtain off the concrete and grab the clothes you left just outside when voices stop you.

“…to God, Droog, she’s doin’ it on purpose.”

“Fine, sure. Bet she’s dishing to the whole cabin. Mind if I smoke?”

“You’re gonna anyway. Fuckin’ heathen. There’s kids around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a bad influence.” A curl of cigarette smoke drifts your way. “So what’s Chakuda doin’ on purpose?”

“You know. Bein’ all cagey and antagonistic, an’…” The voice trails off. You’re pretty sure it’s Jack?

The other person laughs. “She’s just like that, Slick. You ain’t special.”

“Droog. Droog you don’t understand. I’m bein’ targeted.”

“So why ya complaining? Chakuda’s hot.”

“I know, but I’m not gonna play her fuckin’ mind games on a camp week. I got other shit to do.”

The curl of smoke thins to nonexistence as their voices drift away, leaving you right where you’d frozen with a damp towel around your hips.

 _Shit,_ you think as you snag your clothes and dress as fast as you can. Roxy’s insufferable when she’s right.


	2. DAY TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You really don’t know what you’d do without Jane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been over a year but!!! here it is!!!

\- ROXY –

You wake up to Jane nudging you. You squint at her curly bedhead. “Time is it?” you mumble.

“Almost six. Get up, the trucks are here and I need your help unloading it before the counselors notice.”

You shove your head back under the pillow. “Go get the boys to do that. ‘S what they’re there for.”

“Are you telling me you’re accepting your assigned gender role? That’s very heteronormative of you, Roxy.”

“What?” You struggle back up, tangled in your sheets, pillow falling into your lap. Jane grins over the edge of your bunk. “I never said that. _Fuck_ gender roles.”

“That’s what I always say, too.” Jane pats your hand. “Get dressed.”

~

You blink irritated at the rising sun while Jane signs a delivery form from a grumpy-looking truck driver, and nudge Dirk with your elbow. “Gimme your shades.”

“No.”

“’S bright.”

“Yes, and I don’t have melanin. You should have brought your own.”

You make a weak grab at his shades and, of course, he steps just a millimeter out of the way. Fucker.

Jake is, predictably, the worst morning person. He’s bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, looking way too awake for this time of day. The instant Jane hands the clipboard back to the trucker and nods at him, Jake’s off, bounding into the truck to start unloading.

Jane hefts a crate into your arms and your knees almost buckle. “Hgffh – Jane, what the hell is this?”

“It’s your crêpes. Don’t be dramatic, it’s not that heavy.”

“Janey, I love you, but the heaviest thing I have ever lifted was my cat. And Dirk’s ego.”

“Hey now,” he says, passing you with two crates of his own.

“Well, this is a workout you sorely need, then.” Jane throws an honest-to-god flour sack over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows at you. “Bring it inside so we can start cooking.”

Damn her and her ridiculous baker’s arm strength. You wobble inside after her.

~

You’re caught almost an hour later, as one of the counselors flicks on the kitchen light to see you sleepily stirring a pot of strawberry syrup as it simmers on the stovetop. You’re bad at names, but you think it’s Miss Paint.

“ _Excuse_ m—” she starts.

“Yes?” Jane appears, holding a mixing bowl in the crook of her arm, a bright red bandanna holding her hair back, looking for all the goddamn world like a pinup girl from a mid-‘50s baking magazine. “Are you here to help? I’ve got Jake whisking eggs in the back, but I can switch him for you if you’d like.”

Miss Paint looks simultaneously irritated and confused. It’s a look you’re familiar with. “Who _exactly_ do you think you—”

“Jane Crocker. Pleasure.” Jane extends a hand. Miss Paint takes it, completely lost. “We’re making crêpes for breakfast. Would you like to help?”

You can see the wheels turning in Miss Paint’s head. On the one hand, there’s probably a rule or something against campers making their own breakfast. But on the other, if there’s one household name you can trust in the kitchen, it’s Crocker, and she knows it. (A household name you can trust? What the hell is wrong with you. You’re being brainwashed by Jane’s great-grandma’s stupid company, you swear, Dirk was right about everything.)

Jane sets Miss Paint to work cracking the eggs and separating the yolks. It’s what she had Dirk doing at first, but of course he got caught up with the precision and spent like four straight minutes breaking open one single egg, so she kicked him off that job to take Jake’s place whisking. Jake she puts to work kneading brioche dough.

“—can’t believe there is not a single mixer in this entire camp,” you hear her grumbling under her breath. “Got to have Jake do it by _hand,_ like some kind of Stone Age _heathen.”_

You really don’t know what you’d do without Jane, and you tell her so.

“Starve, I expect.” She sniffs primly at the contents of the cupboards, but you can see her smile when she turns away.

Jane is a goddess.

You tell her that, too, as she slides two thin, flawless crêpes onto a paper plate to have you taste them.

“You’re a goddess,” you say.

“I know. Don’t put toppings on them yet, just take a nibble to make sure they’re not raw in the middle. I can never tell with Teflon pans.”

You’ve already crammed the entire crêpe in your mouth and can do nothing but stare at her, mouth full, without a hint of remorse.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Jane sighs, and goes back to her pans.

The staff just kind of… let Jane take over the kitchen. They take to guiding the still-half-asleep teenagers around the food line in silence while Jane slides crepes onto plates with The Dimple Smile™ and a cheery greeting for everyone.

“Morning, Latula! Toppings are right down the line.” She points at you with her spatula. You wave and stifle a yawn. You’re really craving a nap.

Calliope comes down the line looking somewhat like she’s being swept out to sea. “What, exactly, is happening here?” she asks when she sees you. “Or, happened already, I suppose?”

“Jane commandeered the kitchen and made me ‘n’ Jake ‘n’ Dirk her accomplices. Want whipped cream?”

“I… sure.” Calliope looks even more lost as you scoop a spoonful of freshly-whipped cream on her plate. (No matter how hard you and Jake begged, Jane had steadfastly refused to buy the canned shit, and she’d set Dirk to mixing some fresh in a bowl. It tastes better, you admit, but it’s not nearly as much fun as squirting half a canister directly into your mouth.)

“Trust me,” you tell Callie, even as the line of sleepy and irate teenagers grows behind her, “it’s better this way. You take a bite of this crap and you’ll sell your soul to Jane Crocker for a plate of cookies.”

“Better her than the Other Crocker,” Dirk says, appearing beside you with another fresh bowl of whip. “Now stop evangelizing about your newfound goddess of pastries and slap some toppings on that shit. You’re holding up the line.”

“Janey is a straightup sexual fox riding a red hot nuclear bomb—”

“Yeah, yeah, Assachusetts, whatever. You gotta stop saying that. Toppings.” He vanishes before you can come up with a decent retort.

“Your face lives in Assachusetts,” you mumble at the kitchen door before plopping another spoonful of whip on Horuss’s crepes.

~

Unfortunately for you, midmorning sports are mandatory.

“JAKE,” you yowl between pants for breath, bent over with hands on your knees. “I WILL. KILL YOU. WITH MURDER.”

Jake breezes by with the basketball he’s just grabbed out of your hands and tosses it straight into the net. “Gotta catch me first, Lalonde!” he calls back. The fucker isn’t even breathing hard.

Jake’s team (they have a name, which you can’t remember so you’re just calling them The Yellow Team) is up by eighteen points, and you’re starting to get discouraged. Granted, you have Dirk – but even for all his athletic grace, his lack of melanin drove him into the shade on the sidelines three minutes in. You put him in charge of your phone so you wouldn’t break it in the heat of the Sportsball Moment, but you’ve been regretting it ever since you saw him fiddling with it out the corner of your eye.

“STRIDER, GET YOUR ALBINO ASS OUT HERE AND HELP ME.”

Dirk flicks his fingers in a smug little wave. He doesn’t even look up from your phone screen.

You groan and stand upright. Meenah passes you the ball, for some goddamn reason, and no sooner do you catch it than the damn thing’s snatched out of your hands. Again.

“Maybe y’all should just concede.” Jane smirks, passing the ball to Latula.

“Like—” Your voice cracks, and you bend over again to work up some spit for your dry mouth. “Like hell, you… you sports freak.”

Jane’s half the court away by the time you get the words out. You whine and force your rubbery legs to follow, even as Calliope flies past you, jogging at a leisurely pace.

Dirk holds up your phone and snaps a photo. You flip him off with the dregs of your energy.

The counselors are walking the sidelines and shouting at their players. Most of them seem to be having a good time, except for – of fucking course – Snowman and Slick. They’re mostly yelling at each other, but you’re too focused on keeping your vision from blacking out to eavesdrop.

You wonder if you can get your mom to call in a doctor’s note for you to skip the rest of the sports this week.

~

“I hate sports.” You grab a handful of sweat-soaked hair and wring it out.

“Ew.” Dirk sidesteps the puddle of sweat.

“I blame you for all of this.”

“I know. At birth I decided to inherit these fucky genes specifically because I felt it would annoy you sixteen years later at summer camp. Catch me conspiring to piss you off in the goddamn womb.”

“You fucker. You just wanted to ogle all the sweaty boys in shorts, you giant fuckin’ gay.”

“Guilty as charged. Is Jane in charge of lunch?”

Jane appears on his other side. “Technically, yes, but I won’t be cooking it myself. I drew up a menu for the staff to follow for the rest of the week. I can only hope my instructions were clear enough that they won’t screw it up. Anyway, lunch is pasta.” She runs her fingers through her hair, using some kind of fucking witchcraft to make it look presentable in spite of her red-splotched cheeks and sheen of sweat.

Jake comes bounding up to the rest of you as you walk back from the basketball court to the camp hall. “Pasta, you say?”

“I hate you,” you remind him. “I’m kicking your ass if I can ever move my legs again.”

“I’m afraid your threats hold even less water than your hair.” He winks. He fucking winks. “You look like a cat that lost a fight with a storm drain.”

“Dirk, kick his ass for me.”

“Nah.”

“Jane, kick both their asses for me.”

“I’ll take a raincheck. For now, I want to go find my beach towel. They said we’re allowed to go down to the lake after lunch.”

“I’m thrilled,” Dirk deadpans.

Jane nudges him in the ribs. “You can borrow my sunscreen and we’ll sit in the shade and talk shit about everybody.”

“That does sound more fun.” The corner of his lip quirks up. (You call it the Janey Smile and it is adorable as all fuck.)

“Wait,” you butt in, “why didn’t you give him your sunscreen before basketball?”

“Because I wanted to win,” she says very matter-of-factly.

“You dirty whore.”

She smirks. “Businesswoman.”

~

Lunch is passable. Calliope sits with you again, her short hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She is absolutely beaming.

“That was amazing, Jake!” she gushes over her fettucine. “Do you play on a team, at school or some such?”

“Nope!” Jake shovels an indecent forkful into his mouth and talks around it like the godless heathen he is. “I live on an island, actually. Not much chance for competitive sport when it’s just me and Grandma. Though her H-O-R-S-E game is astonishing.”

“An island?” Calliope leans in, eyes practically glowing. “A real, actual deserted island?”

“Righto! Volcano and everything. Here, I’ll show you—” He digs out his phone, then frowns at it. “Roxy, why did you send me a picture of you being awful at sports?”

“Jane, kick Dirk’s ass for me,” you say. Under the table, you wriggle your oversized sports shoes off and try to unstick your socks from your skin.

“I told you, I’ll take a raincheck. Be patient.” Jane pulls a canister out of her bag and sprinkles some thyme onto her pasta. “Anyone want some? They under-seasoned the sauce.”

Dirk reaches over and takes it. “To be fair, Roxy, you did leave me alone with your phone.”

“It’s password protected, and also you’re a huge fuckin’ creep. What if I had nudes on there?”

Jake chokes on his drink.

“If you didn’t before, you do now.” Dirk gives you a near-imperceptible eyebrow waggle.

“You’re fucking gross.” You cram an enormous forkful of pasta into your mouth so you don’t have to talk to him.

Jake finally tilts his phone to show Calliope pictures of his home. She oohs and aahs while Jane and Dirk trade spices.

“So your grandmother, she’s a scientist?” Calliope says.

Jake nods. “Quite a respected one! It’s a bit of a rough-and-tumble life out there, but it’s a rip-snorting ride nonetheless, and she always says that’s the important bit.”

“I wish I could come see it sometime.” Calliope looks almost wistfully at Jake’s phone. “It looks lovely, volcano notwithstanding.”

“Well, I don’t see why you can’t! Grandma loves visitors.”

“Oh, I’m, I’m sure she does,” Calliope stammers. “It’s just, you know, my father, he’s, he’s not really the… the visiting type, exactly.”

Right. Her dad is Jade’s archnemesis. You’d forgotten. To break the awkward silence that follows, you nudge Dirk under the table with your bare, sweaty foot. “Go get me some coffee, dear, sweet, innocent Dirkius.”

“I don’t know where to start telling you how wrong every one of those things you just said was. I’ll skip them and go straight to ‘No, Roxy, you can nap through lake time if you’re tired.’”

“I caaaaaan’t. I have to drown Jake.”

“Wonderful. Now you’ve made me an accomplice to your crime. You couldn’t even give me plausible deniability.” Dirk sips from his Styrofoam cup. It’s fucking coffee. You don’t even know where he got it from, but it definitely wasn’t there twenty seconds ago. “You know,” he says, “you can always come sit in the sand with Jane and I.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that, actually,” Calliope says. “Even if Roxy won’t.”

“You don’t like to swim?” Jake asks.

Callie shakes her head, then hesitates. “Well, I can swim, but not terribly well. And I like it all right! It’s just. I’m just. Self-conscious, is all.”

Jane nods without missing a beat. “Well, that’s all right. Dirk and I are more fun anyway. We’re going to sit in the shade and talk shit about everyone else.”

Calliope’s face floods with hardly-suppressed relief. You kind of just want to hug her bony ass and be her friend so hard. You’d bet dollars to boonbucks her dad is as big of a dickhole as her twin brother. (You’re not sure what that saying means. It’s something Jane’s Poppop and Jake’s grandma say a lot.)

Jake slurps up a noodle a little too hard and thwaps himself in the face with creamy alfredo sauce. “Ah, crud, Jane, can I borrow a napkin?”

“Jane do not give him a napkin,” you order, whipping out your phone. “Oh my god. This is perfect.”

“Perfect what?” Dirk eyes you over his shades.

“Manbro bukkake theater,” you remind him as you snap a photo of Jake’s face covered in gloopy white sauce. “Nice.”

Jake takes off his glasses to try and clean them, scowling at you. “I can appreciate your in-jokes with Dirk, but do they always have to be at my expense?”

“One of these days he’s going to look up what those words mean and we’re gonna be screwed,” Dirk tells you, and you can’t help but shrug and agree.

“I tell you,” Jake says, swiping vainly at his glasses with the stiff paper napkin Jane finally handed him, “you make a mess with one boner and it’s all you hear about for months.”

“You heard him say that,” you say to the table at large. “You all heard it. I did not make this shit up. Oh my god. That’s gonna be the caption when this goes on Instagram.”

“Li’l Hal caught a soundbyte, he says he’s messaging you the file.”

“Li’l Hal always got my back.” You wink and double-pistol at the sunglasses, then go back to your phone. The promised audio file is waiting in your inbox.

A few moments pass before Jane changes the subject. “So what’s with the two teams? I thought we were already divided enough along gender lines.”

Dirk mutters something that sounds like “cissexist” before you kick him in the shin with your bare toes.

“’S just another way for the head counselors to compete,” you suggest, twirling an unladylike amount of pasta around your plastic fork. “Slick and Snowman. I’m telling you guys. You could cut the sexual tension between those two with a rubber dildo.”

Jane snorts into her cup, but Calliope giggles and your heart squeezes. _Fuck_ yes, she thinks you’re funny.

“Right. Okay. Whatever. Your fixation on the sex lives of our temporary guardians is still sort of gross and creepy.” Dirk snatches your now-empty plate. “Give me your trash, you fucking sinner. And don’t make a joke about trash Roxy I can see you about to say it and do not.”

You scowl and slump down in your chair. You make a mental note to try and drown him too this week.

~

-DIRK-

There are a perfect multitude of reasons why you hate beaches, and you list off every single motherfucking one to Jane while she shares her sunscreen with you.

“I mean, obviously, the sun goes first. How in the hell can it get so bright. The sun needs to chill that shit out.”

“Hmmm.” Jane carefully rubs sunscreen into her cheeks, eyes fixed on her little hand mirror.

“And then there’s the expectation that everyone’s shirtless? Like. I know it’s one of the few places where it’s societally acceptable to prance around next to ass-naked, but I don’t see why it has to be so mandatory. Shit’s wrong and I will have none of it.”

“It is ridiculous. Come do the back of my neck.” Jane passes you the bottle and puts her hand mirror away.

You meditatively squirt a dollop of greasy sunscreen in your palm. “I just want you to know how hard I’m trying to not make a cum joke about this.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

“That being said,” you start.

“What else do you hate about beaches?” Jane says very quickly.

“Oh, god, right, the sand. What the fuck is even up with that. Anakin fucking Skywalker had a point.”

“All the best ideas in the world start with the phrase, ‘Anakin fucking Skywalker had a point.’”

“No, yeah, I get that. But seriously, what is the appeal? What am I not getting about sand?”

“You can make sand castles.” Jane takes the bottle back and motions for you to turn around. “And you can bury your friends in it. Plus, when it’s all powdery and fine, it feels nice to walk on.”

“It’s sensory hell is what it is.”

“I know. Callie!” Jane waves at the girls’ cabin, where Calliope’s just walked out. She’s got some cute floral coverup thing going on, but she keeps glancing around nervously until Jane flags her down. “Do you want some sunscreen before we head down? I think Jake and Roxy are already going at it in the lake.”

“Phrasing,” you say, earning you a greasy slap to the shoulder.

“Oh! I already, ah, applied mine. I had extra. Stole my brother’s yesterday.” She grins quickly and downright deviously, but then Meulin bursts out of the cabin whooping and Calliope looks back down at her feet, turning pink.

It’s really none of your business, but you really can’t imagine why she’s so self-conscious. She’s skin and bones; it can’t be her weight, right? Maybe she thinks she’s too pale. If so, she’ll definitely feel better sitting next to your blinding white ass.

“You could, er, get my back?” Calliope says quickly after just barely too much silence. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Jane greases up your new friend and puts you in charge of carrying all the towels while you walk to the lakeside. The sounds of splashing and shouting kind of make you want to turn around and walk right back to the cabin, but you steel yourself and focus on following Jane’s colorful sundress.

She snags a shady spot away from the water and spreads her towel out. “There they are,” she says, pointing at two figures tussling in the water. “I hope Roxy remembered sunscreen, she always does get awfully burnt.”

“Can’t teach an old cat new tricks.” You collapse dramatically on Jane’s beach towel.

“Get off my towel.” Jane nudges you with her toe.

“No.”

“Do it or I’ll sit on you.”

“Why did you put down a towel and not even invite us onto it? How could you hurt me like this, after everything we’ve been through together? I carried this very towel, all this way, by myself, downhill over some very spiky grass. I deserve this.”

“Fine. Just scoot your skinny butt over so Callie can sit.”

You scoot your skinny butt over. “We should’ve brought snacks.”

“You’ll be fine, don’t fuss.” Jane sits at your left, stretching her toes out into the sun. “Just enjoy the outdoors.”

“The outdoors suck ass.” You know you sound like a petulant child, even though you have to admit that the breeze coming off the lake is pretty nice, and in the shady spot Jane picked, even the sunshine isn’t overwhelming. The shouting and splashing are already fading into background noise.

“Your hair’s floofing,” Jane remarks.

“The showers are a hazard. I’ve had to compromise.”

“He’s right,” Calliope says. “They’re a nightmare. There’s something fuzzy actually _growing_ out of the drain in one of the girls’ showers.”

“And the curtains,” you add. “God. I thought I was going to have a coronary every time a light breeze went by.”

“Right?” Calliope breaks into a grin, then her eyes shift behind you and her face freezes.

Jane stiffens and her eyes narrow.

You’re just about to turn around when a familiar nasty, nasal voice stops you. “Out in public finally? I applaud your courage, you poor ugly beast.”

“I could say the same for you, Caliborn,” Calliope snaps, “but for your stubborn substitution of willful obliviousness instead of courage.”

You turn to look. He’s dressed, irritatingly, just like you – tank top and shorts, no swim gear in sight. Lil Hal starts to make a witty comparison, but you minimize the window. In the corner of your eye, you see Jane’s eyes flick up and down Caliborn, sizing him up and finding him wanting.

“It’s good that you’ve decided not to swim.” Caliborn does something like a grin but too much like baring his teeth. “Thank fuck you aren’t inflicting any more of your disgusting self on anyone.”

“You realize that ‘twins’ means we look nearly identical?” Callie’s face is stony and condescending. You haven’t seen her look like that before.

“Fuck you,” her brother snarls, but before he gets any further, Jane interrupts.

“Did you need something?” she asks in that especially polite way she reserves for persistent paparazzi and sometimes Jake. It always means trouble.

Caliborn seems to notice her for the first time. “Did I _ask_ for something?”

You sit up a little straighter. You were content to let Callie handle her brother – family sorts its own problems out, your brother says – but if he’s going to start in on Jane, you’re going to have a problem with him. You start to say something along the lines of _well you sound like you’re asking for an ass kicking_ , but you only get halfway through the first word before a very irate and very dripping Roxy looms behind Caliborn’s shoulder, an overinflated beach ball cocked back in her hand, and the day is about to get _really_ interesting.

~

“Can’t believe it! Can’t believe they’re banning me! For the whole day! Like I did it on purpose.” Roxy huffs and flicks her wet bangs out of her face. “I mean, I _did_ , but they can’t know that for sure.”

“It did make a very pleasing sound,” Jane admits. “Callie, maybe your brother should go into the sound effects business.”

Callie hasn’t stopped grinning ear to ear since Caliborn collapsed like a sack of bricks under Roxy’s vicious volleyball assault. “I’ll pass along the advice.” It sounds like a thank-you.

“So what are we going to do for the rest of the afternoon?” Jake asks, bouncing lightly on his feet. He does that when he’s impatient, you’ve noticed. You’re noticing a lot of new things about Jake English lately.

“Eh.” Roxy scrubs a hand through her hair. A small avalanche of sand falls out. You cringe internally but manage to keep your poker face. “All the sunshine has me wanting some peace ‘n’ quiet. Maybe a nap.”

“Me too,” Calliope says. “Cabin?”

“Oh shit yeah, midday slumber nap party!” Roxy loops one arm through Jane’s and the other through Calliope’s. “Let’s go, girls. No boys allowed.”

“Have fun.” You give the three of them half a wave as Roxy drags them away. “So what now?” you direct to Jake.

“Want to go exploring in the woods?” he says brightly.

Honestly, you probably would have agreed to anything he suggested, but the surrounding shady trees do seem inviting after your brief time in the sunshine. And alone time with Jake?

“Cool. Lead the way.”

~

-ROXY-

“One, two, three, four.” Calliope folds and unfolds the little paper doodad four times. “Now pick one of those.”

Jane points. “That one. Five.”

Callie unfolds it and winces dramatically. “Ahhh, I’m afraid you’re going to have one zillion children.”

“That’s reasonable.” Jane nibbles a popsicle. The cabin’s lone ceiling fan spins lazily overhead. “I’ll need a lot of body doubles in case of assassins, once I inherit the business.”

Calliope giggles, but when Jane continues to calmly eat her popsicle, she glances bewildered at you.

You shrug. “Yeah. Jane’s got a weird future. A zillion kids seems pretty handy for that kinda lifestyle.”

Callie shakes her head and grins. It does something fucky to your heartbeat. “Well, do you want to go again, or should Roxy go next?”

“How ‘bout you go?” You lean over and snatch the fortuneteller, struggling for a moment with where to put your fingers, then present it to her. “Pick a color, mademoiselle.”

She giggles. “Blue.”

“B-L-U-E.” You hold it out again.

“One.”

You flip it once.

“Three.”

You lift the little paper flap. “Two kids. That’s lame.”

“Oh, but two is a magical number!” Callie says. “It’s the number of opposites. Good and evil, light and dark, dawn and dusk, all that. Dichotomies are lovely!”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you have a twin,” Jane teases.

Calliope giggles again and your chest goes fluttery. She’s poetic _and_ funny. God, you’re going to be her best fucking friend.

Jane plucks the paper contraption from your hands. “Roxy’s turn, pick a color.”

You look at Calliope’s bright bottleglass eyes and say, “Green.”

~

-DIRK-

The sunlight isn’t so bad under the trees, but the heat is still stifling and a trickle of sweat is starting to make its way down your back as you follow Jake’s shirt into the woods. He’s hacking away at the underbrush, looking far more comfortable than you’ve seen him at camp so far. “Oop, thicket!” he calls over his shoulder. “Be right careful around that.”

You edge carefully around the thorny clump. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“No idea!” he says cheerfully. “That’s the idea, isn’t it? Exploring parts unknown!”

The woods aren’t exactly making you anxious, but you keep having to look between Jake’s back and your own feet to make sure you don’t step into a rabbit hole or something. Knowing it won’t do anything for your attention span, you slip a hand up and open Pesterchum anyway.

TT: So what’s our plan?  
TT: Our plan?  
TT: Your plans are my plans. We are one, Dirk.  
TT: I’m not asking you for advice. Pipe down.

-timaeusTestified began pestering turntechGodhead at 3:51 PM-

TT: Hey.  
TG: the prodigal bro returns  
TG: hows kiddie camp  
TT: Full of sunshine and sexual tension. All those movies were telling the truth.  
TG: if you come home with chlamydia im gonna have to use my dad voice  
TT: Okay.  
TT: Unrelated, can you get chlamydia from sending nude photos?  
TG: i just had to google how to spell it man i dont fucking know  
TG: ok whats this actually about  
TG: i have a meeting with my sound editors in like five minutes and i can only scare my assistants off with aggressive texting for so long  
TT: I can talk to you about boys, right?  
TG: are you sexting jake  
TG: is jake sexting you  
TG: did you put photoshopped nudes of orlando bloom as an octopus with angel wings on roxys phone again  
TG: if its yes to any of those i owe jade fifty bucks  
TT: I just don’t know how to make the first move.  
TT: And fuck you, Bloomtopus was a fine work of erotica that belongs in the MoMA.  
TG: how did you not plan this shit out years in advance you neurotic geek  
TT: Shrug.  
TG: dirk i love you but i am quite literally the single worst person to ask for courtship advice  
TG: one time i accidentally sent a dick pic to john crocker  
TG: and he fucking tells that story at every show  
TG: my best advice will amount to making a valentine’s card shaped like a dick and tie it to the ceiling fan  
TT: It does have a certain je nais se quoi.  
TG: happy valendicks day, wanna bone  
TG: then you draw a bone  
TG: wait no save that for halloween so you can draw skeletons  
TG: on the valentines one you can say “im your biggest fan”  
TT: Thanks.  
TT: I mean.  
TT: I probably won’t do any of those things.  
TG: good cause im stealing all those ideas  
TG: god im such a creative genius  
TT: Thanks for trying, anyway.  
TT: You’re a true artist.  
TG: anytime little dude  
TG: i gotta go though  
TG: let me know how the wooing goes  
TG: no sexting  
TG: not gonna pay jade SHIT

-timaeusTestified ceased pestering turntechGodhead –

You close the app just in time to avoid crashing into Jake, who’s suddenly stopped dead. He shushes you with a quick hiss, and in the silence you hear a faint murmur.

“Wh—”

Jake shushes you again and nudges you behind a bush.

The murmur comes again, this time more insistent, and then there’s another voice, deeper and rasping. Then a downright moan.

You peek around Jake’s broad shoulders and stare like a deer in headlights.

Tangled up against a tree trunk are your two head counselors, Slick and Snowman, very much enjoying each other’s company.

Your first thought is oh my god I think they’re fucking.

Your second thought is Roxy is going to be insufferable about this if she finds out.

Your third thought is oh my god they _are_ fucking.

“Chakuda,” Slick growls. You gently tug that back of Jake’s shirt to try and get him moving, but he seems frozen, eyes wide and locked on the scene.

“God,” Snowman hisses and you can’t see much, not really – thank god – but you can see her nails visibly dig into Slick’s bare shoulders and your face goes hot. This shouldn’t be nearly as exciting as your brain seems to think it is.

You tug more insistently at Jake’s shirt and edge back away, around the tree, out of sight of the counselors, and thankfully Jake snaps out of his whatever and follows you, tiptoeing around bushes to get distance between you and them. The instant you’re out of earshot, you let out a breath of relief and lean against a trunk to collect yourself. “No one can know,” you tell Jake.

He does everything possible to avoid eye contact with you. “Know about what, eh?” he says, far too high-pitched for the situation. “Haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary around here, no sir, ahaha. Christ.” He collapses against the tree trunk beside you.

“Exactly.” You pat his shoulder. The contact feels weird and unnatural. “Way to stay under the radar, English.”

“I can keep secrets perfectly well and you friggin’ know it.”

“Name literally _one_ movie you haven’t spoiled for me.”

“Spoilers aren’t secrets! They’re hallmarks of superb storytelling and should be shared with the audience, you massive tool.” He punches you gently in the ribs and your stomach flips weirdly.

In any logical friendship this is where you’d say _So are you as turned on as I am right now?_ But as it is, you do your best to push the scene out of your mind and start making your way back to camp. Jake follows some distance behind you in uncomfortable silence.

It’s not like you’re into voyeurism, but… damn. There’s something about seeing people you sort of know like that that makes your head go fuzzy and hot.

After a minute of floundering through the bushes, you realize you don’t have the slightest idea where you are and turn to ask Jake. He’s staring off into the bushes with an uncharacteristic frown.

“Jake?”

He blinks and focuses back on you, but the frown is still there, wrinkling his forehead. “Dirk, have you… you know, ever been kissed?”

You take a precious moment to make sure your poker face hasn’t slipped before you reply. “What?”

“You know, by non-family.”

Your pulse starts to quicken. Is this what normal teenage boys talk about? Act natural. “Jesus, Jake. At least wait until our second date before trying to unlock my tragic romantic backstory. You know I’m a man of mystery.” Nailed it.

Jake shrugs and doesn’t even fall for the conversational bait of _So is this our first date, then?_ that you’d set. He just follows you quietly until, again, you realize you’re hopelessly lost and motion for him to take the lead. The minute he turns his back to you, you seize the moment to wipe beading sweat from your upper lip.

God, you’re _starving._

~

“This… is not rotisserie chicken.” Jane prods her plate carefully with a fork. “It… it isn’t even _chicken_.”

“I think it’s shepherd’s pie again,” you offer, like that’ll help. You look anywhere but at Jake.

“Again?”

Jane pushes her chair back with a quick, forceful squeal of the legs on the floor that puts her squarely in Serious Business mode. The squeal itself isn’t too loud, but everyone waiting in line at the counter seems to stop and glance furtively at her.

“Oh, it’s about to go down,” Roxy mumbles into her Solo cup.

Jane snatches her plate of soggy pie and marches straight to the food line. The teens still waiting part to let her through, sensing the brewing storm. Jane slaps the paper plate down on the counter and looks the serving lady dead in the eye. It’s Ms. Paint.

“This isn’t on my menu,” Jane says, no trace of her trademark sweetness.

Ms. Paint looks exhausted. “We have to get rid of the leftovers. This is what’s for dinner, hun.”

Jane eyes her carefully. You’re convinced she’s about to start a scene, when a commotion at the dining hall doors draws everyone’s attention.

“…just go eat!” Calliope cries, shrill and strained. “You’re holding up the line!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” a voice you identify as Caliborn snaps back. You aren’t sure what the argument is about, but next to you, Roxy slides her own chair back. “I’ll handle this,” she says to you and Jake. The two of you trade bewildered looks.

“Just…” Calliope seems to struggle for a moment. “Just… shut up! Shut the _fuck_ up!”

You and Jake trade even more bewildered looks. You knew that Callie doesn’t get along with her brother, but now she sounds ready to burst into tears.

“Hey dickhole,” Roxy says over Ms. Paint vainly trying to correct Calliope’s language. “Get out of the doorway, that’s a fire hazard.”

Caliborn doesn’t even glance in her direction. He narrows his eyes at Calliope before heading to the back of the line.

Callie looks clearly shaken, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to ignore the dozens of stares from everyone in the dining hall. Roxy grabs her elbow and steers her right out of the line and back towards your table. Jane follows them, her thunder gone. Calliope sits by Roxy and stares at the scratched tabletop as normal activity resumes in the rest of the room.

“I’m not eating this,” you announce to break the strained silence.

“Me neither,” Jake adds. “Can we just. I dunno. Order a friggin’ pizza?”

“On it.” Jane is already tapping away at her garish red phone. “It won’t be exactly what I had in mind for tonight, but anything is better than this,” she motions to the sad lump of mush on Jake’s plate.

“I can’t believe they tried to serve us this shit twice,” Roxy adds. She lifts a forkful to inspect. It jiggles.

Calliope hasn’t unwrapped her arms from her torso, but she does look up. “That’s vile.” Her voice shakes.

You’re still not sure what the spat with Caliborn was about, but you’re seized with a sudden desire to challenge him to a duel.

Jane meets your eyes and your plans align.

“We’ll have to do something with this,” she says, picking up Jake’s paper plate of hellfood. You flash a quick glance over your shoulder at the rest of the dining hall. He’s sitting two tables away. You flick your fingers in that direction. Jane looks, and gets up.

“I’ll throw ‘em out.” Roxy stands up, oblivious. “Gimme your food.”

Before she can react, you swipe her plate from under her. “Better idea.”

Roxy stares at you in confusion, and it’s only in the corner of your eye that you see Jane flick the plate into the air.

The yowling starts an instant later, but while everyone else turns to look, you flick Roxy’s plate too.

The ensuing food fight is short-lived, but glorious.

~

-ROXY-

Gourmet pizza isn’t your favorite. You’re not a fan of olives, or garlic really, or fish, or anything that hasn’t been processed to hell and back and drips with high fructose corn syrup. But by god it’s better than “shepherd’s pie” again.

So you slide another piece on your plate and say, “Jane, we would be lost without you.”

“I know.” Jane hands you a napkin even though you didn’t fucking ask. You’re seated in a ring behind the girls’ cabin, pizza box in the middle, and there’s several other rings of campers similarly situated nearby with their own boxes. “Thank goodness I at least got a shower in before the pizza got here.”

“That shit was sticky,” you agree. “We’re not going to see Dirk for the rest of the week. He’ll be there forever.”

“Fuck you,” Dirk says, appearing out of nowhere with wet hair and a slice of pizza. He looks like when a baby chick hasn’t grown all its feathers in.

“You look like when a baby chick hasn’t grown all its feathers in,” you say, then primly take a bite of pizza. You bite directly into an olive and you kind of die inside but don’t let it ruin your sick burn.

“Check your melanistic privilege, Pinkeye.”

“At any rate,” Jake says loudly, likely to head off any bickering, “this sure beats the dickens out of that slop they tried serving us earlier. Hats off to you, Jane.”

Jane goes pink and probably doesn’t know it. “Oh, I just supplied a replacement meal. No trouble. Certainly had no part in that ruffianism later.”

“Which none of us did,” Dirk adds.

“Of course.” You nod.

Calliope hasn’t said anything since she got her pizza, but she smiles shyly at you. You grin back and hope she feels better after the fight with Caliborn.

“And they’ll never find out.” Jane winks and pops an olive in her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> so!!! some quick stuff!! There will be 6 chapters, but they should be long-ass chapters. It's all plotted out, but I don't have a specific update schedule. The chapters will just go out whenever I'm done with them. There will eventually be some smut but I haven't decided how much, hence the No Rating tag. please leave a comment, i need validation.


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